Nuremberg is carving out a reputation in the gastronomic world—something one might not instinctively associate with Germany. Yet delve into the 2025 Michelin Guide and you'll discover 341 starred establishments across the country, including twelve with three stars, 47 with two, and 282 with one. Etz holds two of those coveted stars, and according to chef Felix Schneider, what he's created transcends the conventional definition of a restaurant. His vision, he explains, is to reshape our culture of appreciation: for ingredients, for our roots, for the moment itself.

I was fortunate to secure a place at one of Etz's Metamorphosis Evenings during a visit to the city. The journey began with a metro ride out to the suburbs, followed by a somewhat circuitous search for the restaurant, which lies tucked away in a courtyard off Kirschgartenstraße 6. Only by following a trail of fellow diners through an archway did I finally locate the entrance—a suitably mysterious prelude to what promised to be an extraordinary evening.

Prospective guests should come prepared: the experience spans from approximately 6.15pm until 11pm, with considerable stretches devoted to watching Schneider and his brigade meticulously prepare each course in full view of the dining room. It was week 39, and the theme—'All Colours: Peak of Biodiversity and the Last Days of Summer'—seemed tailor-made for the season's abundance.

Like any compelling narrative, the magic begins with a prologue. Guests are ushered into the Aroma Library for an introduction to the philosophy underpinning the concept. Here, one can explore Schneider's laboratory—a shrine to the cornerstone techniques that define his menus: fermentation, drying, extraction, and maturation. We're offered a glass of Japanese quince water as we wander amongst the shelves, lined with bottles and jars that immediately spark a renewed fascination with food and our relationship to it.

Schneider's aim, as he explains at length, is to capture, concentrate, and reimagine hundreds of flavours. His treatise covers fermentation techniques and special refinement processes that lead to what he calls 'a surprising metamorphosis'. It's a fascinating exploration of how aromas transform through nature and intervention, prompting us to reconsider what will eventually arrive on our plates.

Privileged: Herr Schneider's Aroma Library

What becomes immediately apparent is the extraordinary skill of Schneider's team in foraging and sourcing ingredients from the Franconian landscape. The dedication to foraging is not merely a fashionable nod to seasonality but rather a fundamental pillar of the restaurant's identity. The team's intimate knowledge of local ecosystems—from the ancient forests of the Steigerwald to the fertile fields of the Knoblauchsland—allows them to assemble a remarkable array of ingredients that speak genuinely of place and time. It's this foraging expertise that underpins everything that follows, transforming what might otherwise be a collection of interesting dishes into a coherent exploration of Northern Bavaria's natural bounty.

During his discourse, with almost military precision, members of his team emerge from the test kitchen bearing warm towels to refresh us. A buzz of anticipation fills the room. Before we cross the courtyard to the main restaurant, we're presented with our first taste: a kniekuchle—a traditional Fasching pastry—fashioned from sourdough and topped with Anjo chilli tabasco, garlic oil, sheep's labneh, and an array of edible flowers. The flavours marry beautifully, with a gentle heat threading through impeccably cooked sourdough.

Shortly after comes wild boar tartare wrapped in nasturtium leaves, accompanied by mustard-pickled cucumber, fermented ginger, and golden linseed. The boar is exquisite, and the flavours dance across the palate—the initial punch of ginger gradually yielding to the assertiveness of mustard. 'Oh,' I thought to myself, 'the subtlety of these flavours bodes well for what's to follow.'

Or so I hoped.

Now properly orientated, we made our way across the courtyard to the main dining room. The welcoming team guided each party to their table with quiet efficiency, and I was pleased to note that thought had been given to pairing me with a host who spoke impeccable English. What I hadn't anticipated, however, was the presence of a dog—a couple had brought their pet along for the evening. At an establishment of this calibre, one might reasonably expect a pet-free environment; allergies aside, not everyone wishes to share their special occasion with someone else's animal. Still, some consolation could be found in the fact that the couple had been seated towards the rear of the restaurant, thoughtfully positioned away from the central action.

The next plate to arrive—Sammelsurium, a dish for sharing—presented itself as a walk through the countryside, woods, and the extensive farmlands of the region. A canvas of colour: flowers, herbs, and berries plucked from the Franconian landscape. It was undeniably earthy, with a pronounced bitterness that caught at the back of the throat and offered some intriguing flavour notes along the way. I wasn't entirely certain what it achieved, though it certainly succeeded in its stated aim of making diners contemplate nature and our surroundings.

It prompted me to think differently about landscape—and for the German guests, I suspect, it served as an opening statement showcasing Northern Bavaria's rich culinary tapestry: fruit orchards and vegetable fields cultivated for centuries, valleys dotted with fish farms, ancient forests, urban textures, and hillside vineyards. Intellectually engaging, certainly, though one did wonder whether the plate delivered quite as much pleasure as it did provocation.

What followed was chicken innards, chopped and fried with quince, carp garu, Moruga chilli, and coriander. This was genuinely delicious—pungent and salty with plenty of heat in the mouth, aromatic with the coriander, and then all of a sudden a surprising sweetness. A bold dish that showcased Schneider's talent for food amplification at its best.

It was time for a new chapter: the Brotzeit, which also marked the beginning of the wine pairings. This opened with a Franconian Rotbier—roasted malt with milk-sour starter, presented in a traditional tankard. I enjoy good beer, but with this particular course, it felt rather heavy and overwhelming rather than complementary.

The sourdough bread, however, was a thing of beauty: made from old wheat varieties, ripened for 36 hours with a ten-year-old sourdough culture from the test kitchen. It arrived alongside an impressive charcuterie selection: knuckle ham aged for three years, cooked ham from the shoulder, and lardo enriched with linseed residue, all from Mangalica pigs raised in the Franconian Steigerwald. There was also breast and knuckle with noble mould, matured from Wagyu-Fleckvieh cattle from the Franconian Alb, plus cooked sheep's belly ham. Accompanying these were pickles in various guises—raw, pickled, and lacto-fermented vegetables—whilst the breads were served with salted sour cream butter, fresh goat and sheep's cheese ripened for eight weeks with fig leaves, and Brind'Amour culture. Quintessentially German in its generosity, the butter and cheese were an absolute delight, the meats well prepared, and the lardo texturally satisfying. A fine spread that spoke to the region's bounty, even if one sensed that ambition had, just occasionally, outpaced execution.

As I watched the meticulous preparation unfold—a production line of experienced chefs painstakingly stripping herbs from their stalks with an almost meditative precision—it was time for the omnivorous menu to begin in earnest. The first course was a seasonal pumpkin brûlée: steamed and caramelised Zucchetto from Etz's own garden in Buch, accompanied by a char bisque. It arrived with a perfectly matched 2022 Silvaner 'Augustbaum' from Richard Ostreicher, ripened in wood in an elegant fashion, its saltiness and creaminess undercut by a gentle acidity. This dish worked beautifully—the sweetness of the pumpkin married harmoniously with the char bisque, creating something genuinely revelatory. It was clever throughout, each element thoughtfully balanced, and for a moment the evening's promise felt wholly within reach.

The trout goulash that followed was sourced from local lakes in the Oberpfalz and presented raw and marinated with a pepper-fish jus, sour cream, roasted pepper, grilled salad with a dill marinade, and traditional goulash spices. Fiery red in colour, it offered a delicious sweetness and was perfectly textured—one of the standout dishes of the night, demonstrating just how thoughtfully the curated menu could come together when all the elements aligned. The second wine, a 2018 Silvaner 'Indigenius' from Weingut Manfred Rothe, provided a lovely zest and spiciness, developing beautifully in the glass. It felt like the most quintessentially Franconian wine of the evening, and the restaurant seemed to be delivering on every one of Schneider's lofty promises.

Trout goulash

A seasonal pumpkin brûlée

Vegetable Soup

A vegetable soup was next on this cornucopia of gastronomy, composed of produce from the Knoblauchsland: an infusion featuring a variety of beans, artichokes, onions, tomatoes, and mushrooms, finished with basil flowers and green currant leaf oil. The aroma was lovely, and the delicately placed vegetables made for a visually appealing dish—the preparation itself was fascinating to watch unfold. The third wine, a 2015 Silvaner 'Freigeist' from Ilmbacher Hof, proved an elegant companion: soft, calm, and quietly assured.

Then came the course titled 'Chicken and Hay', which was in fact roasted rooster sourced from Mönchswald—fattier and richer in intensity than chicken, with a texture altogether more robust. It was roasted on the bone with hay butter, which provided a subtle backdrop, whilst the brilliance of a cherry, destoned and filled with pumpkin seed marzipan and chicken jus enriched with liver, added an unexpected dimension. Yet one of the inherent challenges with cooking in full view of the dining room became apparent here: without an adequate extraction system, the high-intensity heat generated clouds of smoke that drifted across the room, occasionally engulfing diners and interfering somewhat with one's ability to fully appreciate the flavours on the plate. A shame, really, when such care had gone into the preparation.

The fourth wine was a Chardonnay, Pouilly-Fuissé 'La Croix' from Domaine Robert-Denogent—a strong, characterful pour from old vines that held its own admirably. Time was moving on, and the experience had now stretched into its fourth hour. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, except that the theatre of having the team cook and prepare food in full view of the dining room didn't add quite as much to the experience as one might have hoped. Many diners had turned their attention to conversation rather than the culinary performance unfolding before them, suggesting that perhaps the concept worked better in theory than in practice.

The penultimate course was titled 'Thinking of a Coconut Macaroon': fig leaf ice cream—quite subtle, though I would have welcomed a touch more pronounced flavour—with raw and cooked topinambur (Jerusalem artichoke, for those more comfortable with the English term). The coconut provided a clear, anchoring taste, and the texture of the artichoke matched well. With a satisfying crunch, this came together rather nicely.

The final official dish of the evening proved to be the pièce de résistance and was genuinely delightful: 'Sea Buckthorn in Paradise', featuring dill ice cream with dill flower meringue, sea buckthorn butter caramel, and fruits from the nightshade family.

This was a glorious conclusion—white peach mingling with the green of the dill used for the ice cream, topped with delicate flowers. Accompanying it was the last of the alcoholic wine pairings, a 2019 Blanc de Blancs Prestige from Sektkellerei Höfler, which matched the dish beautifully. (For those travelling in Germany, Sekt is the local answer to Prosecco—a sparkling wine well worth exploring).

It had been a good evening, if perhaps a little protracted. I had to make a swift exit owing to early commitments the following day, and there was a surprise finale which, though charming, felt rather superfluous.

Herr Schneider's foraging exploration is undeniably dynamic; his vision to reshape our appreciation for ingredients is both ambitious and admirable. There are moments of genuine brilliance here—the trout goulash, the pumpkin brûlée, that final sea buckthorn dessert—where philosophy and flavour align perfectly. Yet some elements do get lost along the way, a not uncommon challenge amongst Michelin-starred establishments where lofty concept occasionally outpaces consistent execution.

The theatrical element of open kitchen preparation, whilst initially intriguing, ultimately adds more time than tangible value to the evening. Still, if you find yourself in Nuremberg, Etz—from the Northern Bavarian dialect for "now"—is worth seeking out. It's an experience that offers genuine insight into regional ingredients and innovative techniques, even if it doesn't quite achieve the transformative metamorphosis its name promises. You might well regret missing it.

The challenge, of course, is finding it in the first place.

Herr Schneider

Etz
Wiesentalstr.41
90419 Nürnberg
Karte

+49-911-47712809 (Mi-Sa)
etz@etzrestaurant.de